


haven't you heard the word

by wishingonly (wendlaswound)



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Multi, ansgt, everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 13:54:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 5,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14238717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendlaswound/pseuds/wishingonly
Summary: A collection of my old little tumblr prompts. Enjoy if you please.





	1. "you're satan" (melchior/moritz)

Moritz groaned and fell back on his bed, rubbing his eyes. “When will this hell be over?”

“When you die,” Melchior answered cheerfully, prancing into their small bedroom and jumping onto his own twin mattress, grabbing a book from his side table and immediately beginning to read.

Moritz scoffed and sat up, gesturing to Melchior with frustration. “How do you have leisure time?! This is college! This is our future! Why are you wasting time instead of studying?”

“I’m studying for my personal enjoyment,” Melchior told him, not even looking up from the page.

“Really? Then where’s Wendla?”

Melchior looked like he would have chucked his book at Moritz, who made a “Gotcha!” face with enthusiasm.

“But really,” Moritz started again. “How do you do it? I have a report, a paper, and three readings due tomorrow. We take the same classes. And yet you’re never been drowning in work.” He snapped his fingers excitedly, cutting Melchior off before he could respond. “I know: You’re Satan.”

Melchior’s brows were scrunched, absolutely perplexed. “No, Moritz. I’m an atheist.” he stood, and came to stand by Moritz, and put a hand on his shoulder. He spoke in a low voice. “But if you’re wondering, yes, I did sell my soul to never have to do any homework.” He walked to the door, went to leave, but turned one last time. “And if this were hell, I most certainly would be the king.”


	2. birthday sleepover (melchior/moritz)

           “You’re now legally an adult, and you still own Smurf pajama pants?” Melchior greeted Moritz bluntly, ushering him into the entryway.

           Moritz scowled. “You’re over the age of nine and you still think Katy Perry makes good music?” he retorted, dumping his bag on the floor.

           Melchior pointed a finger scoldingly. “Hey. Too far. Leave K.P. out of it.”

           Moritz rolled his eyes.

           And so Moritz’s annual birthday sleepover was off to a roaring start.

           They settled down in the basement where Melchior had already compiled a stack of blankets, movies, and snack food. It was well more than they needed for just the two of them, but Melchior was just like that. Always well over-prepared, or hilariously underprepared. Moritz had grown used to that, however, and wasn’t surprised or uncomfortable in the slightest. Anymore, at least. He’d had more than enough time to adapt to his friend’s strange ways. Not that he enjoyed them, though.

           Melchior tossed him one of the family sized bags of popcorn and started up the first movie. It was, of course, as per their tradition, The Princess Bride. Melchior’s favorite sappy rom-com. Ever. It was always the first movie, despite it being Moritz’s party.

           Moritz never minded, though. He didn’t hate the movie or anything, and it’s not like he’d get any other party, or any acknowledgement of him managing to stay on this earth for another year from anyone else.

           So he never complained about any of the traditions, no matter how dumb or unfounded they were. And Melchior had many of them, nonsensical but perfectly uniformed habits and rules that he never forgot and followed meticulously. By now, Moritz must have known most of them.

           Surely he had to. He’d lived closer to Melchior than anyone else for practically his whole life. Surely he knew most everything about his friend. All the brilliant things and all the insufferable ones, too.

           The movie after The Princess Bride was Monster’s INC. The one after was The Santa Clause, even though it was July. By then it was already after midnight. Moritz wasn’t tired at all. His mind was too busy thinking that this might be the last time Melchior was with him to celebrate on his birthday. It was something he’d never considered before, and now that he had, he wished he hadn’t.

           Instead of starting up another movie after The Santa Clause, Melchior stood and glanced over at him, fidgeting nervously.

           “I got you something,” he said softly. “One minute.”

           “Oh, okay,” Moritz said, but Melchior had already dashed off upstairs.

           Moritz waited awkwardly, a little fearful for what his friend would bring down. Melchior wasn’t known for being the softest or most considerate person. And though he knew himself well, he often had trouble with others. The gifts he had gotten Moritz in the past had been so ridiculous that Moritz told him to just stop, he didn’t need anything. These nights had been enough. Having someone to be with on his birthday was enough. He didn’t need much else; he was a simple person.

           “Close your eyes!” he heard Melchior shout from the staircase, and he did.

           “Okay, you can open them now,” he then murmured right in Moritz ear which nearly made him jump.

           In front of him was a cake. It wasn’t very big, but it was tall, and it was blue, and there were 18 candles in a ring around the top of it, and it said “Happy Birthday, Moritz!” in icing on the top.

           “Wendla helped,” Melchior admitted shyly.

           Moritz could have cried. Instead, he laughed. “Of course. You burn toast on the lowest setting. The last time you tried making cookies they came out green.”

           “How do you know I didn’t want them green?”

           “Who wants puke green cookies?”

           “Some people.”

           Moritz laughed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a cake on his birthday. He probably never had. His parents never celebrated with more than a card and a “Good morning” instead of their usual silence. And now he was an adult, with the most child-like party events.

           It was perfect.

           Okay, he may have been crying a little bit.

           “Wendla was little mad; she’d never known it was your birthday and was mad at me when I told her she couldn’t come.”

           “She’s always mad at you. And she has known me for more than a decade, now. You’d think she'd realize if I never got older.”

           This time Melchior rolled his eyes. “You know that’s not it. You never make a big deal about it. And it’s always in the summer.”

           “Yeah, well. It’s fine. I’m good with this. This is enough.”

           They had matching smiles, which fed their conversation without any words. It was a warm silence, in the glow of the candles. But after a moment Melchior finally spoke again. “So? Are you going to make a wish?”

           Moritz was taken aback, but he recovered quickly, looking over the candles as their heat warmed his face.

           He found his wish.

           He blew out the candles.

           “Oops,” Melchior said. “Looks like you have at least three romantic partners of undetermined gender. Should have blown harder, buddy.”

           Moritz rolled his eyes and hit Melchior’s shoulder, hoping the now dark room would hide his blush.

           Melchior put in another movie, The Fox and The Hound, Moritz’s favorite from when he was a kid. And they watched another. And another. Without saying a word the rest of the night, or rather, early morning. Neither of them slept or even thought of going to bed until the sun came up. It was a tradition, after all. And when it finally did, they trudged up to Melchior’s room.

           Though Moritz was the only one who made it there. Melchior passed out halfway up the stairs.

           Moritz left him there and took his bed.

           It had been a good birthday, he decided.


	3. bowl (melchior/moritz)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a little wilse here too

“I don’t wanna bowl,” Melchior whined and slumped on the bench over his chicken wings.

“Yeah, well,” Moritz began with his hands on his hips. “You’re my team, and we gotta beat Wendla and Ilse, so, like, get the fuck up and bowl like a man.”

Groaning, Melchior turned to face the lane. “I don’t like these shoes. I’m standing in other people’s feet sweat. I am so displeased and uncomfortable right now. I don’t want to be here.”

“The sooner we win, the sooner you can take them off, okay?”

* * *

 

The game was over, and they both collapsed on the bench over the empty tray of food.

After a moment, they turned to look over at the girls who were high-fiving. Then they looked back at each other. “We got fucking wrecked,” Melchior said, then shook his head, yanked off his shoes, threw them to the next lane, and put his feet up on Moritz’s lap. “In all honesty, I blame you. You’re the weak link to this team. I can’t work with you anymore.”

Moritz just rubbed his forehead and rolled his eyes.


	4. breakfast (wendla/ilse)

It was decided. Ilse was going to do it. After almost three years of pining, she was going to ask Wendla out.

It was 7:03. Moritz sat across from her, eating pizza and offering a thumbs up in encouragement. That’s what she had called him over for, anyway. She needed all the support she could get.

“… if you don’t call her, I will,” Moritz told her after she sat in silence and stared at her phone for many, many minutes. He had almost finished the pizza.

Ilse took another deep breath, nodded, and picked up her phone, dialing quickly.

Wendla picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, Ilse.”

“Hi!” ( _Goddamit CHILL OUT_.)

“What’s up?”

“Oh… uh, nothing much. I was just wondering if you maybe, wanted to go out with me tomorrow?”

“… like a date?”

“Well… yeah.”

“Sounds good. What time?”

Ilse almost couldn’t make another noise. “Uh, 9? I’ll pick you up, and we’ll go out for breakfast?”

“9 in the morning? A breakfast date?”

“Well, yeah, if that’s okay?”

Wendla laughed brightly. “No, it sounds great. I was just a little surprised. I’m looking forward to seeing you and the pancakes.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Wendla hung up, but Ilse could hear her smile as she did.

She set the phone down. Moritz’s eyes were wide. Ilse was numb with shock.

“So?!” He shouted.

“It’s a date.”

Moritz said nothing else, just pumped a fist in the air while Ilse fell over, groaning, “What am I going to wear?”

She felt Moritz tap her shoulder reassuringly. “I will help you, do not fret.”


	5. insidious (wendla/ilse)

Ilse groaned, tossing her arm over her head dramatically. “Wendy, I’m bored.”

Wendla looked up from her book, assessing Ilse’s pointless, hopeless sprawl on her carpet. “So you are,” Wendla said, thinking for a moment, her head tilted slightly.

“I want to like, go somewhere,” Ilse explained eagerly, knowing all to well that Wendla would think up a remedy. “And do something. It seems like we never do anything. Ever.”

An insidious smile played at Wendla’s lips. Ilse knew that smile well. She whispered, “Oh no,” quietly to herself.

“I know exactly what we’re going to do. C’mon,” Wendla said, jumping up. Ilse followed, already regretting ever opening her mouth.


	6. intentions (melchior/moritz)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Melchior being obsessed with shitty romance novels is my favorite headcanon

When Moritz walked into Melchior’s room, he hardly expected to find his friend reading and sobbing silently. Moritz tip-toed over to his corner, not wanting to interrupt Melchior’s moment.

But soon after Moritz had settled in and pulled out his homework, Melchior’s piteous sobbing became overwhelming. He clutched his face in his hands but kept reading, his tears splattering on the pages. Moritz couldn’t see the cover.

“What on earth are you reading?” he finally asked.

Melchior twitched and wiped his eyes, surprised to see Moritz there. “Oh, I-I just, I was… it-” he broke off into more dramatic, wracking sobs.

“Melchior!”

After a moment, Melchior took a deep breath and looked over to the other side of his room. “Despite his best intentions, Bartholomew could not save Catriona.”

He glanced at Moritz one last time before his blubbering continued and he went back to reading.


	7. "We fell asleep on the couch together on accident, how did my hand end up in your hair? Were you breathing on my neck?! (Why did I get tingly???????)" (wendla/ilse)

Wendla and Ilse sat facing each other on the ratty couch in Wendla’s basement. To be honest, Wendla was nervous; she bit her lip as she met Ilse’s eyes, and found within them only murder.

           Ilse held up her wheel and scowled. “You are going down, Bergmann.”

           And with that, Wendla was terrified, though she pretended she wasn’t. She smiled as confidently as she could, and selected the course on the TV. “Don’t be too sure about that, Neumann.”

           “I am sure. You will lose.”

           “Well, we’ll just have to see.”

           The countdown went off, and then there they were, in Wario’s Gold Mine, fighting for their lives and pride and dignity.

           The girls’ monthly Mario Kart tournament had a shockingly low attendance that weekend because Ernst had spread his cold to everyone, so the rest of them were all at their respective homes, sneezing rivers of snot and crying over reality TV, as Wendla saw from their Snapchat stories (Melchior was a Wipeout guy, Moritz was for Say Yes To The Dress, Martha, Hanschen, and Otto were The Great British Bake-Off, and Georg and Anna were all for 19 Kids and Counting). Wendla had assumed the tournament would be canceled, but nope. Ilse was on her front porch at 7:30 precisely, pillow in arm, three large bags of popcorn tucked in her overnight bag. They had already eaten two of them as their dinner.

           But now it was the real game, the reason they did this, the Final Countdown. And Wendla would not allow herself to be disgraced.

           Even if Ilse was the Mario Kart Champion three years in a row, now.

           And even if Wendla was Very Tired.

           Hey, a girl had to hope.

           So she did, she also prayed a little, and she focused all of her remaining energy into the screen, letting her skillful control of the wheel guide her into the top three every round. She got this. She got this. It was hers to lose. She just had to stay awake… one round longer…

           And then in the middle of her second lap in Bowser’s Castle, Ilse leaned on her shoulder. Wendla was already tense, but now she was hyper-aware of the other girl’s head that close to hers, to feeling Ilse’s chest rising and falling where it pressed against Wendla’s arm. Ilse yawned loudly and nearly went into the lava moat, but she barely seemed to notice. But Wendla noticed. She was now completely awake, not wanting to sleep at all ever again. She might have been a little tingly, like she had just drunk too much coffee too fast. Her chest hurt like she just had done that, also.

           Ilse was out before Wendla could finish the last lap. She came in last, and Wendla second, and doing the mental math in her head as the end screen played… she had won.

           She had actually beaten Ilse at her game.

           The queen had been dethroned.

           …And she was currently snoring on Wendla’s arm, which she was cuddling tightly.

           Wendla didn’t know what to do. She was blushing for no reason. Ilse didn’t seem like she would wake up any time soon.

           Wendla clicked off the Wii and the TV with the remote, glanced over her friend, smoothing down her tousled hair a bit. And her tiredness hit her all over again, and she found herself leaning back into Ilse, comfortably curled up on the couch. Nothing else seemed to matter as she dozed off.


	8. kitten (hanschen/ernst)

Hanschen woke up from his nap and smiled, gazing down at his boyfriend who was curled up in his lap. He brushed the hair out of Ernst’s face, which made the other boy stir. He groaned and stretched as he woke.

“Mhmmmp.”

“Hello.”

“Hellooooo.”

Hanschen laughed lightly. “You look like a little kitten, all curled up.”

Ernst nodded and turned so he was tucked under Hanschen’s arm, settled in to go back to sleep. “Meow.”


	9. movies (martha/moritz)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **FORCE AWAKENING SPOILERS DON'T SAY I DIDN'T WARN YOU

It was a terrible idea to bring Martha to the movies, but Moritz did anyway. In all honesty, it was the two of them together that was the real problem. Their talking and gasping and laughing always got shushed. Somehow, they managed to never get kicked out for their excessive sobbing, though they had come close a few times. Namely, the last Hobbit movie and a generic Nicholas Sparks movie that Moritz couldn't remember now.

But this may have been pushing it, right when Kylo Ren pushed his father off of the bridge.

Simultaneously, they both leaped out of their seats as the rest of the theater gasped.

“NO!” Martha screamed, tossing her popcorn all across the poor people in their row. “HE TRUSTED YOU! HE lOvED YOU!” She collapsed back in her seat, sobbing ferociously. Moritz was still frozen.

“Sit the fuck down!” some anguished teen shouted at him and tossed a couple pieces of popcorn at his back. But Moritz couldn’t move.

They were always a mess when they went to the movies.


	10. painting (melchior/moritz)

“I hate it when they do this,” Melchior mused absently as he added a stroke of paint to the mural every once and a while with a careless flick of his wrist. “They tell us to ‘embrace our creativity’ only to crush it later on with grades and standardized testing and _standards_.” He scoffed and made an angry ex on the large boards they were painting in art class. They were the only two students actually working, which was quite ironic since Melchior ranted about working the entire time he did so.

Moritz rolled his eyes. “You need to calm down.”

“How can you be calm when the establishment is trying to break us?”

“If you get into one of your disestablishmentarianism speeches again I will seriously kill myself,” Moritz told him plainly. Remarkably, Melchior said nothing else. After a while of the quiet, Moritz leaned over to examine his friends work.

“Is that a fucking dick?”

Melchior giggled. “Right now it’s just a dick, but I can make it a fucking dick if you want.”

“Out of all the people I could have been stuck with, why did it have to be you?”


	11. paper (melchior/moritz)

Melchior hardly expected a confrontation at breakfast. Before 9:30 was too early for any argumentation. But there he was, enjoying his Cheerios, when his morning was thoroughly disrupted by Moritz slapping the newspaper down in front of him.

“Good morning, Moritz,” Melchior said calmly.

“What the fuck is this about?”

“The polite response is ‘Good morning, Melchior.’”

“Don’t be a shit for a moment and explain to me what this paper says.”

Melchior took another bite of cereal as he glanced over the paper. “The news, I presume. It is a newspaper.”

“What did I say about being a shit? And can you read to me this headline, please?”

“Yes, I am literate.”

“WHAT. DID. I. SAY.”

Melchior gave Moritz The Look™ and rolled his eyes, then read the headline.

“Local Hoodlum Proclaims Government to be ‘The Hairy Armpit of Satan’ Before Naming Himself King and Jumping Off Of City Hall Wearing a Batman Costume.”

Moritz stared at him.

Melchior only shrugged. “Don’t blame me for what I did when I was hungry.” He took another bite of Cheerios to prove his point, while Moritz steamed silently, before ripping the paper away and stalking off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a Snickers commercial let's be real


	12. rain (martha/moritz)

Martha was sitting out on her porch in the rain when Moritz arrived. He’d walked there, of course, and was already soaked down to his skin. He shivered despite the warm day, the humidity suffocating but the water relieving.

He sat next to Martha without a word, their shoulders pressed tightly.

They had long ago established that the rain was the best place to cry. If the sky was sharing its sadness, surely they would share theirs, too.

And you could never really tell if you were crying in the rain.


	13. river (martha/moritz)

There was a river behind Martha’s house that she had almost drowned in when she was a child.

Since then, she had often thought about going back and letting herself fall under the current, let it carry her away.

But she never went close enough to touch it, even when a thick layer of ice protected her from the rushing waters.

She had told Moritz of these thoughts, one afternoon where they laid next to it, reading from their respective books. Unusually, he said nothing for a long time. He sat up, closed his book, and looked at the river from the bank for a long while.

“You know, there’s a river in the Underworld in Greek Mythology,” he told her, holding up his book that was, of course, Greek myths. “It’s called the Lethe. When souls want to be reborn, they go to the river and bathe in it to forget their past life. Maybe your river’s like that. Maybe it’s magic.”

He stood, walked towards the water as if in a trance. Of course, she followed. She always did.

His feet were still on the ground, water brushing over the toes of his shoes. He bent down and let the top of the stream run beneath his fingers, barely touching. He nodded, motioning for her to do the same.

Of course, she did.

And then he splashed her, laughing loudly as she fell back, shocked. She recovered quickly though, and got him right back until they both were dripping.

At one point, she stumbled out a little too fall, felt the current pull her feet out from under her and she lost her balance.

But Moritz was there, and he hooked his arms in hers, murmuring, “Whoa, hey there, I got you, I got you…”

Once she was safely back on shore, he smiled. “I’ll always be there to catch you.”


	14. "if one of them has a horrible scar, the other will kiss it every time they’re sad" (moritz/ilse)

Moritz had never really known how Ilse and he had become friends. It was a subtle realization, just like they’d subtly grown together as everything else had drifted away.

They’d been friends as children, but that had never really accounted for anything. It was beyond different now. Of course it was.

They’d grown up.

And that wasn’t always a good thing.

Their friendship recorded few words. It was more the comforting presence, the assuring glances, the rare, gentle touches that settled each other’s frazzled minds, the feeling of someone else’s skin, one that they could finally trust.

They didn’t need to answer for the bruises on their arms, sides, occasionally faces. They didn’t need to give an explanation for the scratches and scars up their arms and legs. The slashes across Ilse’s wrists didn’t even make Moritz flinch when she pushed up her sleeves absently once. They both knew. They had that much understood between them.

And new beatings and bruises and scars were nothing to each other, even when everyone else questioned them. It was a welcomed silence.

And Moritz had only really expected the silence, only really needed somewhere where his mind wasn’t racing, where his thoughts weren’t a storm that destroyed everything in their path.

He hadn’t expected anything else.

He hadn’t expected Ilse patching up a cut on his face after it had started bleeding again, his father favoring that one spot on his cheek. He hadn’t expected her cleaning it and covering it with a bandage and easing the pain with a small kiss right over the dressings.

Or holding his hand afterward as they let their minds fall silent next to each other.

He hadn’t expected himself to bring her hand to his mouth and kiss the edge of her slashes where new cuts teased the edges.

He hadn’t expected the tears in the corners of her eyes, though the rest of her demeanor was utterly composed.

They demanded nothing of each other. That was always what they had. Peace.

As long as they were together, all was well.


	15. sweater (martha/thea)

“Why do we even come to these things?” Martha chattered, despite being squished in tight between Thea and Anna on the bleachers. It was a rather chilly night to be at a football game that none of them wanted to go to, but Martha was bearing the cold autumn wind much worse than the rest of them.

“Hey, you can have my sweater,” Thea told her, unwrapping it from around her waist. Martha went to protest, but Thea cut her off. “I’m not even wearing it. Seriously.”

She helped Martha into it and rubbed her arms, smiling at her chattering. “C’mon,” Thea stood and held out her hand. “I’ll buy you a hot chocolate.”

Despite the added warmth, the cuddled a little closer the rest of the night.


	16. the party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not posting this separately because it's still short and it's crack. Also my wifi is HORRENDOUS and this is the third time trying to post it

Melchior didn’t like high school parties. They were loud. They were riddled with drugs and shitty alcohol and belly-button licking and teenagers generally being the idiots that society pegged them as. Melchior didn’t like to associate with the party scene “image”. It was distasteful. He didn’t need that. What he needed was a quiet room, a cup of Earl Grey tea, and Hemingway. That was his ideal night. Not out amongst the degenerates of his generation, getting various flavors of alcoholic beverages spilled over him. He hadn’t ever gone to a party and hadn’t wanted to.

            He thought Moritz felt the same.

            But apparently not, as Melchior received a long string of gibberish texts from his friend while he was trying to settle into bed.

            He didn’t even bother trying to respond. Instead, he texted Ilse.

**You: Where’s Moritz**

**Ilse: que??????**

**You: Ilse, where is Moritz?**

**Ilse: hees right hear, silly**

**You: Where’s here?**

**Ilse: HERE YOU DUMBSHIT**

“Oh my god,” Melchior grumbled to himself.

**You: Are you with Ilse and Moritz?**

**Wendla: I’m their designated driver.**

**You: Shit. Are they drunk?**

**Wendla: Yeap.**

**You: Are you drunk?**

**Wendla: Maaaaybe a little**

**You: Send me the address**

Wendla had taken minutes to reply to each of his texts, but at least she was comprehensible. While he was waiting for the address, Moritz texted him again, this time real words.

**Moritz: melchy I hurt**

**You: Are you in danger? Did someone hurt you?**

**Moritz: no my head**

**Moritz: ow**

**Moritz: hhhhnnojfjssalsklk**

**Moritz: icky juice icky ickj**

**You: I’m coming to pick you up in just a few minutes, hold tight.**

**Moritz: wait mel whET AMD I SUPPOSED TO HOLD ON TP**

_Jesus._

It took her another three minutes, but Wendla finally sent him the address, and Melchior went out to be his friend’s knight in shining armor.

            Or knight in Bugs Bunny pajama pants and a Harvard sweatshirt.

            He figured it didn’t really matter.

            His minivan was messy but everyone would fit. And he figured they’d all be too drunk to notice. Melchior wasn’t looking forward to that. He found drunk people particularly unlikeable.

            And then he realized he’d have to bring them home.

            To _his_ home.

            Moritz’s dad would never let him back in the house if he found out he had snuck out to a party – which Melchior was sure he had. And he was pretty certain Wendla and Ilse, “honor’s roll since the womb”, would be punished similarly. And he did not trust their ability to sneak back home in their current states.

            Thankfully, Melchior’s parents didn’t really care if three drunk children stumbled into their home at three a.m. They were liberal like that. (They also probably would feel better that Melchior had gotten them all home safe, which would definitely be his main defense if it proved that they were NOT cool with it.)

            Melchior wasn’t surprised to find the lawn trashed upon arrival, or the teenagers stumbling around the property in their stupors, car alarms blaring from every direction.

            It wasn’t hard to find his friends. He hadn’t known them for the party scene, and they sure didn’t fit in. The three were huddled on a loveseat together, Moritz groaning, Ilse laughing and stroking Wendla’s hair as she pounded furiously on the keyboard of her phone, which was ironic, considering his three message conversation with her had taken almost fifteen minutes.

            He stumbled over some people making out and knocked over about seven solo cups just in his trek through the living room. He clapped loudly when he was in front of his friends, and they looked up at him with varying degrees of excitement.

            “TIME TO GO!” he shouted, and was promptly shouted back at by the other party goers.

            Wendla didn’t even look at him, not really; she merely stood behind him and waited for the others to follow. After Ilse proved too dazed to stand, Wendla took her hands and pulled her up.

            Moritz was the last one on the loveseat. And he promptly slumped over to fill the vacated space.

            “Uuurhggg,” he moaned.

            Melchior sighed and tried to get a solid grip on Moritz’s shoulder to hoist him up, to no avail. After assessing his senseless friend for a moment, he saw that he had no other choice, and hoisted the other boy over his shoulders.

            “Alright, move it out,” he motioned to the girls to navigate their way through the havoc, and followed cautiously behind.

            Even so, he definitely hit at least three walls with Moritz’s head on the way to the door.

            Somehow, they made it to the car without major injury or distraction, which was a feat in itself. Wendla and Ilse piled in, and he settled Moritz in one of the back seats, telling Ilse to buckle him in as Melchior started up the van.

            “How was your party?” he asked tonelessly.

            Ilse seemed like she was about to say something, but she was interrupted by a groan and a blech from Moritz.

            Wendla, concisely, commented, “Ew.”

            Melchior closed his eyes. “He just puked in my car, didn’t he?”

            “Mmmmmhmmm,” Ilse told him helpfully.

            It was going to be a _long_ night.


	17. tree (melchior/moritz)

“You’re so fucking tall,” Moritz said randomly, after several minutes of silence and watching Melchior laid out on his bed. “Really, you’re like a fucking tree.”

“And you’re so short you’re like a hobbit. I thought we’d gotten over this height thing, Moritz.”

“We have, but just, how do you not hit your head on ceilings and shit? It’s ridiculous.”

Melchior sighed. “Oh, Moritz. We walk in completely different worlds.”


	18. wedding (hanschen/ernst)

“Ernst, our wedding is tomorrow, can’t you-”

“NO,” Ernst shouted, turning to face Hanschen, his hand still tightly around his wrist from when he’d been dragging them down their cramped hall. “I will not wait anymore!”

Hanschen didn’t quite know what to do, since he didn’t disagree. But _one of them_ had to be the reasonable one. Sadly, it was Hanschen’s turn. “Okay, well-”

“We’re going to city hall right now and getting married-”

“But we had a whole thing planned and-”

“WHO CARES?”

“We invited so many people-”

“Our guest list is 30 people, and 20 of them realized we hadn’t died or moved to Guam when we sent out the invites. You can call whoever you want to come see us get married at 2 am in an office building in our pajamas.”

Hanschen considered this. “Alright. I’ll grab the papers, you get the car started.”

Ernst sighed gratefully, trudging over his long pajama pants to the door. “Finally, I have a good idea that you actually listen to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's fitting to end with one of my favorites.


End file.
